


Break

by Apetslife



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apetslife/pseuds/Apetslife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin's on the outside, getting tired.  This one's got pining and H/C in spades, folks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break

Break  
by Pet

They've lasted longer this time than ever before, are older and stronger now than ever before, and you convince yourself that it's not going to happen again. Not without you, not now that JC isn't speaking to you, now that Joey's smile for you is a pale shadow of what it once was, now that Chris never calls you by your pet names any more.

But Joey's hands are shaking when you come off stage in Columbus, and his eyes are frighteningly blank, and JC is frowning at him with that little crease between his eyes that means he's really paying attention. You watch from the side as Lance slips an arm around Joey's waist, as Chris murmurs something low in his ear. You're always on the side, now, when you're not on stage or in front of all-seeing cameras. Joey breaks, sags into Lance's hold, and you can almost feel the exhaustion coming off him in waves.

Usually, Joey isn't the first to go. Lance is still delicate, and the shadows under his eyes get darker every day of every tour. JC naps more than the rest of you, but he gives everything he has on stage, and it wears him to the bone. Usually, it's one of them. But pneumonia and fatherhood and movie promotions and sleepless nights have taken their toll, and you can see it in the heavy set of Joey's shoulders as Chris and Lance lead him to the bus. JC lingers behind, slanting a look at you sideways, and opens his mouth, then closes it again. He follows them, leaving you to the empty bus. Again.

You remember exhaustion. You remember reaching that point in Germany, when the hollow tired place in your chest spread out to deaden your arms and your mind and every movement. That had been the first time, when you'd crawled to your bed, completely insensate, just craving the three hours of sleep you would be allowed that night. Chris had been there waiting for you, warm arms and soft mouth bringing you back, a little, to life. You'd smiled at him, and kissed him, and slept more soundly than you had in months. Later, when you'd seen JC coming out of Joey's room looking rested for the first time in a long time, you'd understood.

It wasn't an always kind of thing, though more than once you'd wished it could be. Only when you were all too tired to go on alone, too burned out to deal with anyone outside your little world of five, too desperate for something sweet and loving to let anything as small as gender get in the way. Mostly it happened on tour, but sometimes during recording, too. Lance had resisted, initially, but after he'd worked himself into the hospital, Joey and JC hadn't left his side, or his bed, for weeks. It is better that way, with all five of you. More right.

You shake off memories and head for the quiet bus. You hope Joey is all right, but you know you've lost the right to call over and ask. You strip out of your costume, not even hearing the screams of the fans outside the stadium as the bus shakes and lurches into motion. The tiny bathroom is all yours, and you do not hurry. Justin-in-the-mirror stares back at you, not looking tired at all. And you aren't. You're a man now, strong and fit and thick with muscle. You've got energy to spare, and four hours a night is plenty of sleep for you. You hate that, suddenly, wondering if perhaps, if you'd trembled, if you'd shaken, if maybe JC would have forgotten the unforgettable things you said and kissed you behind the ear, if Lance would have forgiven the slap, the black eye, and rumbled something nice in his low voice, and curled his heavy body around you.

Your cellphone is waiting, and you think of calling Britney for phone sex. Instead, you curl up in the bunk in silence, and behind your closed eyes, your slowly moving hand, your little sex sounds, is a picture of Chris hovering over Joey, licking his strong throat while Lance rubs the soreness out of his legs with slender, gentle hands. You are so lonely you can't sleep for the pain in your stomach.

Joey looks much better when the buses unload a few short hours later. His head is higher, his step lighter, though he sits still in the ready room at the radio station, with none of his usual fucking around or practical jokes. That might be because JC is holding his hand, though, down between their thighs. It's a sexy, intimate hold. Chris catches you staring at their linked fingers, and frowns at you. You look away quickly, guiltily, wondering again how you're going to make it through another interview, pretending everything is happy and normal. You're about to cry, and suddenly realize that your sleepless night last night has made you feel pretty tired and a little fragile. You almost go lean on Lance, and then remember. Then you think hard, so hard that you almost miss the call when they're ready for you.

Coffee is your friend that day, and you keep your cup full in the radio station, on the way to the meeting, before the soundcheck. Joey comes and stands next to you at the craft services table, the only one who really talks to you any more. Joey couldn't stay mad at Hitler, you sometimes think.

"What's that, four cups today? Damn, Justin."

You stare at him a little blankly, unused to being approached even by him. Add more sugar to your cup, since this coffee is just vile.

"Five," you say shortly. You've forgotten how to have a normal conversation with him.

"Dude, take it easy. You're gonna have to take a piss break in the middle of the show, at this rate." He grins at you a little, and you find yourself smiling back. You remember the plan, and let the grin slip, and shrug.

"Just tired today, I guess." When you move away, he's looking after you.

To say you are strung out on caffeine would be an understatement, by the time the show rolls around. You're literally twitching, and you pace the ready room at high speed for almost ten minutes before Lance rolls his eyes in exasperation and sticks his head out the door.

"Dre! Dre!" The big bulk of the bodyguard fills the door. "Could you take this fucker out and run him through the halls or something? I'm about to poke his eyes out with a penlight, I swear to God."

A penlight? Then you see the expression on Dre's face, and you can't help but laugh at the thought of 400 pounds of bodyguard running you anywhere. He looks completely horrified. Dre does not run except when chased, and really, who would be dumb enough to chase HIM?

"Lance..."

"Oh, fine. Find me someone who can, though, ok? We've got half an hour to go before showtime, and this is getting out of control." Dre nods and withdraws, and you think sulkily that Lance could have just asked you to sit down, or something. But no, that would mean speaking directly to you. So you sit anyway, and confine yourself to fidgeting with a makeup mirror, making spots of reflected light dance on the ceiling.

Someone from tech shows up and stands uncertainly in the door, but you wave him away. It's nice of him, but you really need to save your energy for the stage. Your eyes feel gritty and hot from being wide open for so long, and you can feel the coffee crash nibbling at the edges of your hyperactivity. You maybe could have timed this better.

JC has to catch you as you stumble going down the stairs from the small stage once, and you almost fall off the bull during one fairly nasty twist. You dance heavily, without your usual grace. It's not really having the effect you were hoping for, though. They're all scowling at you in the quick change room, moving jerkily with anger, blaming you. And maybe they should. You ride the bus alone again that night, but you barely notice, you're sleeping so hard.

The next morning, as you reach for coffee in another nameless featureless tv station, JC grabs the cup out of your hand, without even looking at you.

"No."

It's the first word he's said directly to you in over a month, and you can't decide whether to cry or laugh. You remember that soft voice whispering of love and lust, as the five of you shared breath and skin and heat, in a big hotel bed. You don't drink coffee that day.

They're not cruel to you, not really, though Lance can be cutting and is probably the most angry and you've overheard more than one comment. Mostly they just ignore you when they can, and that's almost worse. They don't want to drive you away; you know they all still love the band, the music, the experience. They just want you to know that you are no longer an equal partner.

You've tried apologizing. You've tried humbling yourself, doing favors for them, going out of your way. Chris misses you, you know. But Joey has been Lance's guard dog since the beginning, and Lance knows how to stay angry. JC, too; under that fluttery exterior is a core of steel, and JC does not forgive easily, not the really bad things. You know you don't deserve it, can't expect it, but you find yourself wondering if they ever loved you at all, if they can't see past this thing. That thought keeps you awake for another night.

Your face is pale the next day. It's almost a day off, with no traveling and no shows, and you stay in a hotel. Now that the barrier has been broken, you know that the other four will be sharing a room. Chris looks like death warmed over, and has for some time; you're still surprised that Joey was the first to break. You stare into the mirror for a long time, and consider going to makeup and asking them to give you dark circles. You're just so fucking healthy. You know that being tired won't make them love you again, but you think maybe they'll pity you a little. Maybe give you a hug, hold your hand, ask if you're ok. That's the most you can hope for, and right now it sounds like heaven. You wonder if it's normal to be this wrapped up in four other men, and then realize you don't care.

The gym beckons, and you lift weights until you're aching and gasping and as limp as a noodle. Lance pokes his head in at one point, sees you there, and leaves. You tell yourself that your eyes are stinging because sweat has gotten into them.

You think of Chris's dark eyes and clever hands, as you jerk off in the shower. You tell yourself firmly to grow the fuck up. The laughter, talking, then quiet coming from the room next door makes you want to break something, exhausted body and all, and you briefly consider heading back to the gym. Instead, you order room service and watch TV, and pinch yourself to keep awake. You expect the others are napping. Good for them.

Chris is that evening's delegate from Lance, who despite everything makes sure you know the schedule every day. That gives you hope. Chris looks past your shoulder as he talks about the interview, the photo shoot, the new venue, but you're not listening; you're too busy watching his mouth move. Your hands itch with the desire to reach out and touch...you'd never admit it to them, but the tired time on tour is your favorite time. Every tour, you wait for someone to start breaking down, so that you can touch and love and get love. You feel like you're being cheated out of something you need. It was bad enough before. Now it's unbearable.

You let your head tip down to rest against his shoulder, out of the blue, and feel him jump and freeze mid-sentence.

"Justin..." his voice is cautious.

"Just...please, Chris. Please?" You hardly recognize your own voice. It's shaking and thin.

His arm comes up slowly, almost unwillingly, and circles your shoulder. Gives it a brief squeeze, and you sigh at the feeling, before he pushes you gently away.

"Justin, no." And this time the tears really do fall, because you're so tired and heartbroken and lonely.

"Chris, what...I've tried, I've tried everything, I don't know what to do, I can't, I've missed you, oh, please..." It all comes spilling out of you in a cleansing rush, and you can see his eyes widen and go soft, through your tears. He pulls you in again, makes little hushing sounds, and you collapse into his hold completely. He's small and strong and warm, and you soak up the contact like you were starving for it. You guess you probably were.

He doesn't touch you, not really, but when he closes your door softly behind him, you think maybe you've got a man on the inside.

Sure enough, breakfast, though quiet, is not as cold. You wonder what Chris told them in the quiet dark, when they were all together. Did they miss you? Did it feel strange with four instead of five? You rub your eyes disgustedly, feeling stupid. But Lance passes you the milk without having to be asked three times, and you smile at him, feeling it all over your face. Big green eyes look at you evenly before he turns away, but Lance has acknowledged your existence. You smile for the rest of the morning, despite seeing Joey's hand resting in the small of Lance's back, his thumb rubbing little circles. It's ok. Sometimes you wonder about those two, anyway. Sometimes you think that Joey looks forward to the ends of tours just as much as you do. He...looks...at Lance sometimes.

Chris is smart, and knows people, and so you're not surprised when he drags Joey over to your side as you're standing outside the trailer at the photo shoot, smoking. Joey's his best bet. Yours. Still, you feel a little nervous quiver in your stomach as they come closer, and you hope Chris knows what he's doing. Joey is listening, and Chris is talking a mile a minute, though he shuts up as they come up to you. He stops, strikes a pose.

"Joey Fatone, I'd like you to meet my friend Justin Timberlake. He's a complete asshole, a real dick, but he's just a young'un, so we have to make allowances. Plus, he's really really sorry about the shitty things he does, after. Justin, this is Joey. He's a total sweetheart, so you better be nice to him." Chris pauses, looks at you both. Joey looks as baffled as you feel, and maybe a little angry. You shiver. "Well? Shake hands, dorks. You've been properly introduced now."

You stick your hand out stupidly, and Joey takes it like he doesn't know quite what to do with it. You look at him, seeing smile lines and warm brown eyes and tired thinness, and you forget yourself and step in and squeeze him into a hug. He feels good, solid and strong, and you flash to a memory of his hands on your naked hips, holding you still, and you step back, suddenly afraid. He doesn't want this, you're sure. He just looks at you, then turns on Chris.

"What the fuck?" Joey is one for plain speaking.

"Joey." Chris's voice is unexpectedly gentle. "Look how tired he is."

You feel Joey's gaze on your face, but you're still staring at the ground. You wonder if not sleeping has worked. You wonder if he even cares. You hope you look as miserable as you feel.

"Chris..." But Joey sounds resigned, now, not angry. "You know it's not that easy, right?" You wonder if it means anything that they're talking like you're not even there, and then you feel fingers on your chin, and your face is tipped up. He's looking right at you.

"Justin, you little fucker." He almost sounds affectionate. "You know it's not that easy, right?" You nod obediently. Oh yes, you know. Silence has become such a habit for you that it's hard to break, but you force the words out anyway.

"I'm sorry, Joey." Your voice is small. He shakes your head lightly, back and forth, a scold.

"Don't apologize to me. I ain't the one. You tell them, and you make them believe it."

You nod again. You've tried, but you'll keep trying.

"I'll talk to Lance. I'll see what I can do. This whole thing has sucked for way too long." Joey smiles at you, a real smile, and you melt. "I missed you anyway. Little fucker." Your smile travels to the rest of your body, and makes you tingle and shine. He drops a quick kiss on your jaw, pulls back before you can reply, and walks away.

You look at Chris, and you hope he sees how much you love him right now. You don't have the words to tell him. He smiles at you, and you think he probably knows.

That night in the ready room, Lance isn't talking to Joey, either, and his jaw is clenched tight, his eyes hooded. JC looks exhausted and sad. Chris is manic and chattering, probably trying to fill the silence. You hide in the corner, almost behind the La-Z-Boy, hoping to escape notice altogether. The shine from that afternoon is gone without a memory. You will never be allowed back, you know now. Not when Lance still has his hard face on, even after talking to Joey.

"FUCK!" Joey breaks into Chris's babble, scaring all of you. He stands up, looking big and mean and kind of scary, really. You hope he's not pissed that you screwed things up between him and Lance, because this Joey could kick your ass, and you know it. "Fucking ENOUGH with this shit." You cringe back behind the chair a little farther. Joey paces, runs his hands through his hair. Makeup's gonna kill him. This probably isn't the best time for this conversation anyway; if you cry your makeup will run everywhere.

"Just..." He still has the floor. He waves in your direction. "LOOK at him! He's a fucking kicked puppy over there. He's hiding! He can barely talk to us! Yeah, he said some shitty stuff, he did some shitty stuff, but this is really starting to fuck up the group." He levels a glare on Lance and JC, who are on the couch. You are stunned. You've always known that Joey hates conflict, but is he really standing up for YOU? "You need to do whatever you need to do, but get over it, ok? There are five of us, not four. He's sorry. He's really, really fuckin' sorry. He told you that. Now accept it, and move on."

It's the longest, loudest speech you've heard from Joey in a long time. And he's never raised his voice to Lance before. You can see your shock reflected in everyone's eyes. Chris's mouth is agape, but he doesn't look unhappy. Lance looks pissed. JC is still and quiet. Everyone looks at you, and you look back. You think Joey has just ruined everything, and you wonder if maybe a solo career isn't such a bad idea. You make yourself as small as possible, which isn't very. Everyone is silent.

Lance stands up jerkily, and walks towards you. You close your eyes, because this is it, you know. This is when he tells you all the things you've seen in his eyes, about how he can't stand the sight of you, how you make him sick, how he never wants to speak to you again. And you don't think you can bear it.

Fingers grab your ear, and you yelp as you're hauled upwards to your feet, your head bent to Lance's hand as he twists painfully. "OUCH! LANCE! OWOWOW-" You're dancing from foot to foot, unable to get away. You've seen Diane do this to Lance, but you never had proper sympathy for him until now.

He brings his face right to yours. All you can see is green.

"YOU-" he snarls, takes a deep breath, starts over. "You are not forgiven." He pauses, and you die. "But," he shakes you by your ear, and you whimper, "I will let you start trying to make it up to me." He drops you with one last shake, stalks back over to the couch, and lounges down on it. Not for the first time, you notice that Lance moves just like a cat. You think that this is probably a bad time to be noticing the sexy things about Lance. Your ear throbs.

Joey flops down on the couch next to Lance, who tries to fend him off, unsuccessfully. Joey's thanking Lance, you think, as you watch him lick at Lance's lips until he's let inside, until Lance curls a hand around his shoulder and pulls him in, brings a thigh up to cradle his hip. Seeing them together makes your breath come short.

You don't dare look at JC, who still hasn't moved. JC is strange and special, and never lets go of his notions. When the call comes to go stageside, he hasn't said a word. You give the show of a lifetime, energized by the fact that things seem like they're getting better, but JC is like an open wound on stage. You are terrified of him.

Terrified, but determined. You race through the hallways with the others towards the buses, bumping Chris and getting a friendly shove in return. You smile. When they all head to Joey's bus, you follow, despite Lance's frown, the shake of Joey's head. You need to talk to JC.

The scene in the lounge is so familiar it makes you ache. Chris has flopped down on the couch, with Joey's head on his lap, though they're both still dripping. Lance is drinking water, fast, leaning on Joey's knees. JC is standing, frowning at the floor, twisting a long soft strand of hair around his fingers. You walk straight up to him, ignoring the heart that's trying to climb out of your throat. You drop to your knees, feeling the painful jolt as you hit the floor, and you bend your head.

"JC. JC. Please forgive me, JC, I'm so sorry." You don't know what else to say, but you want him to know how you feel. "JC, I'm dying. Please." You fall silent, waiting. It's all up to him, now. The others don't say anything. This is between you.

You feel a gentle hand on your head, your short hair. He used to love your curls. You're too frozen to cry.

The hand pulls lightly at the ear Lance twisted before, and you wince. It travels down, two fingers stroke the line of your jaw. They come to rest on your lips, and you can taste the salt of sweat. He doesn't say anything, but you know. You lean forward until your forehead rests against his belly, and his hands come down to stroke your shoulders. You sigh. You are suddenly, painfully, utterly exhausted.

Joey unfastens your boots, while Chris pulls your shirts off over your head. You're too tired to make a move to help, and you let them handle you like a child. Warm hands on your back, as JC strokes a finger down your bare spine. Lance busies himself with your belt, and strips you out of your pants. When JC pushes you into the little shower, you wish briefly that you were in a hotel with a huge bathroom, so they could all come in with you. You don't want them to stop touching you.

When you come out, though, they're still there, cleaned up as best they can be in sinks and with towels. It's impossible to tell where Chris begins and Lance ends, on the couch. Joey is stroking JC's hair gently and kissing his belly. You hesitate, unsure of your welcome. But JC lifts a hand to you, and you go, and he pulls you down into the tangle. Oh, the luxury of touch. Your heart is singing. Lance's voice is in your ears, fingers twined with yours as he whispers porn. Joey's hands are between your legs, stroking you until your back arches. JC is rocking against you, into you, from behind, pushing you to the shattering point. Chris's mouth is on yours as he sucks on your tongue, and he tastes like love.

You think that maybe you will never need to sleep again.

[end]


End file.
